Electronica and ambient reviews

I’ve wanted to review an album by the prolific Jack Hertz for a while, and the timing of his latest album, “Speleo” is just right. Jack runs the Sound for Good netlabel, where profits from sales of downloads and CDs go to charity. Eagle-eyed readers may recall me talking about Sound for Good on my earlier review of William Spivey and Aos Crowley’s “Absence of Matter“. It’s notable that, in just four months, already the label has reached its sixth release.

The album’s notes state that the recordings “are inspired by and dedicated to the amazing subterranean worlds of the underground.” There are four tracks, ranging from 10 to nearly 17 minutes long. “Mineral Dreams” starts with a thin, reedy pipe; a slow minor chord draws out, and vocal textures are laid over a pulsating drone. The music is exceedingly atmospheric, transporting the listener into a descriptive environment in an effective way. Around 4:30, soft synth notes percolate the air like the glint of crystals. The track shimmers along, an occasional repetitive motif fading in and out after 10 minutes or so. The second cut, “Dusk at Stalagmite Forest” is eerie; a high chord is pitchbent across the soundfield, to be overlaid by uncertain synth voices which hang suspended in the air; a distant bat/bird-like call can be heard from time to time. The track has a great air of loneliness.

“Endless Cavern” has a gorgeous opening, jagged synths tinkling and jangling over luscious thick pads. Long notes shoot off into the darkness, disappearing quickly into the cavern’s void. There’s fabulous use of the stereo soundfield here. Around 4:30, everything seems to tilt sideways and then rebalances itself again. Coils and springs dance around the periphery like sprites. A gentle rhythmic pattern is introduced just after 8:30, driving the listener further forward. This one’s my own favourite; the whole album will bear repeated listening, though, as there’s so much to discover here. “Cave Pearls”, the final track, has breathy pads drifting across a two-chord structure. It has a warmer sound than the previous three, with vast, dense notes layered thickly atop a soft rhythmic pattern. A multitude of different tones, some open, some closed, create a huge sonic tapestry. It’s absolutely superb.

“Speleo” is a complex and rewarding journey, and I’ll certainly be revisiting it many times.

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Roberto Massoni‘s “Diter:0″ is the first album to be released on the Docil netlabel, which is based in Argentina. According to the Internet Archive, the label may previously have been named Data. The label also has a SoundCloud page with some additional tracks. The description on this release’s webpage (as translated by Google) describes the music as being “created from the kindness and acceptance of happiness”.

At just over half an hour long, the album moves from one slow, perfect slice of beauty to the next. “Ruido” starts uncertainly, before lush chords are placed across an over-driven guitar rhythm; male Spanish vocals add the final icing. “Enero” has gentle guitar notes above a tantalisingly complex structure, all the more odd for having a wonderful naivety to the music. On “Descalzo”, electrical hum is juxtaposed with long, soft pads and soft tinkling bells, creating the perfect contrast.

“Distro” has hazy chords, sizzling and shimmering above a thick bass pattern, sinewy guitar notes travelling neatly above and creating a beautiful dense effect. A soft, train-like rhythm propels “Mismile” forward, with long ethereal pads and stereo guitar notes spilling out all across the aural horizon; it’s difficult to choose one, but I think this may be my favourite track here. The soft chords in “Acuoso” move around more restlessly, never quite settling. It’s the only track here with no real resolution.

The mechanical sounds of “Carrousel” are set wonderfully against light guitar strums and muddied, nostalgic piano notes; thick synth chords pull the track along. This music definitely deserves to be used in a film. “Tresam” opens with simple guitar, its reverb laying a gorgeous backdrop of chord changes to anchor haunting piano notes. The last track, “Honso”, is also the album’s longest, at just over five-and-a-half minutes. A lonely breeze of thin guitar notes hovers over distant ambient piano. It’s quite melancholy.

This is a free release that I would have gladly paid for if I’d heard it playing on the radio or elsewhere, and it’s a lovely way to fill 30 or so minutes.

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It’s always exciting when a new netlabel launches. Petroglyph Music is a fresh Norwegian label which intends to focus on ambient and experimental music and their subgenres. The label currently has two releases under its belt, having been launched just over two weeks ago. Some of Rune Martinsen’s earlier work can be found under the name Abhorrent Beauty; Øystein Jørgensen has also recorded fairly prolifically under the Ambient Fabric name.

To say that the minimalist cover of “Mysterium Cosmographicum” gives nothing away would not be totally correct. Indeed, it’s perfectly fitting in the case of such a satisfyingly dark ambient album as this, where the music is built upon a deep sense of isolationism and unease. Some of the track names refer to astronomical matters, and where this is relevant I’ve added links to Wikipedia for further information.

The title track immediately draws us into a desolate and uncomfortable space, dark textures stretched out, first to one corner and then all around. “SN 1604“, the longest take here at 9:04, is cold and unforgiving, its deep thuds in complete contrast to the waves it beams across the cosmos. “Ion” is very mysterious, phasing and swirling under ripples and sizzles which shoot off into the ether, like objects untethered by gravity.

“Somnium” takes us to the album’s midpoint. It’s ominous and foreboding, with black drones under high-pitched, desperate skittering tones. This is almost musique concrète, and the effect is both baffling and dizzying. Perhaps the most conventional cut, “Spacewaves”, begins with drone and pulsating keys; high static shapes rise over an aural field of rotation.

My favourite track here is “Kuiper Belt“, with its breathy space pads unfurling over coiling bass stabs, effects, and an occasional bell-like clang; it feels barely under control, and bristling with malevolence. “Steel Rain” opens slowly with dark pads and plucked piano strings, rumbling and dramatic under metallic tones. Finally, “No Return” kicks off with question and answer synth notes, leaving a dark final trail on an exhilarating 43 minutes.

It’s a cracker of a début release for any label, taking the listener somewhere novel and uncharted. I’m already looking forward to listening to the label’s second release, SiJ‘s “Fragments of Memories“.

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The collaborators on “Epoch” are very well known in the ambient and experimental music fields. Shane Morris is fluent with many percussion and wind instruments, and hardware and software synths. In addition, he co-owns and operates Ethereal Live. Thomas Park (aka Mystified and Mister Vapor) is a prolific musician in the ambient and atmospheric genres, and he also owns Treetrunk Records and its spinoff, Complex Silence.

Aside from this release, the artists have a huge wealth of back catalogue and experience in a number of genres, and are both gifted innovators. “Epoch” is described in the CD’s sleevenotes as being the first part of an epic trilogy entitled “Inspired Evolution”. Only acoustic instruments and sounds were used in the album’s production.

“Epoch” takes us across four geological time periods, initially to the “Cambrian Explosion”. Here, the listener is immersed in almost tangible primordial dampness and heat, with deep bass and long minor shifting drones. Uncertain shapes slither off at the sides; there is a sense of breath being taken for the first time. It’s extremely compelling listening, and a lovely taste of what’s to come. “Devonia”, the album’s longest cut, lays small seeds down under long, ominous notes which furl and unfurl like sonic rope. The soundscape beguiles the listener with a keening, hypnotic repeated motif hanging in the ether above rock-solid didgeridoo drones. Organic splashes and burbles signify the changes in the forms of terrestrial life. This music is incredibly visual; it’s almost as if we are watching a film. It’s a stunning track, and one which I’ve played again and again.

The shortest offering here, at just under nine minutes long, “Triassic Extinction” represents the end of the period of the same name, where at least half of the species on the planet became extinct. The music is sad and sorrowful, with metallic rings spinning to the left and right of empty, thin drones. Tiny organic sounds flounder in a huge, welling space. When the listener considers the events the music attempts to describe, it becomes a moving piece which seems to reflect the frailty of life against gargantuan forces. It’s very thoughtfully done, and extremely evocative.

The final cut, “Jurassic Dawn”, heralds a time of positive change for the earth; we are now in the age of reptiles, which of course includes the dinosaurs. Vast changes take place in the music compared with the previous tracks. Sounds representative of birds and small mammals are here, but it’s impossible to ignore the presence of large, lumbering creatures, their heavy footsteps thudding as they roam across the ground. Open major drones hint at the potential ahead as this period dawns. There is no stasis here; the music morphs and evolves, widening out descriptively as new forms of life are introduced. The percussive footsteps of the dinosaurs provide percussion, but with no rhythm. A didgeridoo raises uncertain calls as it explores its new world of activity amongst the changing shapes of nature’s novel creations.

I have to confess I’ve never experienced music quite like this before. It would be very easy to use the word cinematic, but that simply would not do justice to what is effectively film drawn in sound. It’s an utterly stunning album, and I cannot wait to hear what the duo conjures up next.

Many thanks to Thomas for supplying me with a promo copy of the album.

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“Ascend” is the second solo album by the German musician Jaja (Jana Rockstroh), and is released on the netlabel she co-founded, CYAN Music; its predecessor “Oum” was issued in 2011. She is also one half of the psytrance duo “New Age Hippies“. Jaja describes her music as live electronic compositions, where she plays and arranges nearly everything live on her keyboard, which always makes for interesting listening.

The album is an epic project, clocking in at over two-and-a-half hours. “Aero” has a stately opening, with grand washes of synths pulling around vortex-like under an ethereal choir. “Entity” is dark and dense, with snippets of alien speech floating above huge dramatic chord clusters and a Vangelis-like lead. “Stellae” is the longest track here at 21:00, its massive textures rolling around the soundfield, almost filling every last atom in the air, leading to breathtakingly gorgeous note shifts. It’s utterly stunning.

“Once” is a gentle journey, lone notes ringing out slowly above clear skies like an anthem. The music is much more minimal than the previous tracks, which provides us with a great contrast. The long minor pads of “Connect” slowly shift to major and back as unearthly rain bounces endlessly to and fro, and lonely string synths paint sadness. “Talis” has great cosmic roars and smaller metallic coils rotating around thin bellows of keys. Again, there’s no resolution to the music – it shifts and whirls, conjuring a gigantic picture.

“IO” has Jaja’s voice (I presume) talking, then reversed, over slow-moving synths and light piano melodies; a dense stack of notes piles up before fading away. “Rain” is light and almost acoustic in nature. Cello-like strings are accompanied by guitar, weaving an intricate, evocative pattern. The closing track, “Run”, is a solo keyboard exposition, lovely reverb tailing off of single notes; there are no real chords as such, other than those created by the overlapping tails. It’s very pretty, and a lovely finish to a fine album.

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The newest release on the Ethereal Live netlabel, “Inner Place” is a project by an artist “IX” from Tehran, Iran. This seems to be his second album under this name. The first appears to be “Substratum” on the Russian Subwise netlabel. According to “Substratum”‘s page on Discogs, the first album was released in July 2011. The Russian Otium netlabel lists a number of other projects under different names: Alphaxone, Spuntic, Monolith Cycle and Altitude-X.

The album’s tracks are all named “Transition”, and numbered from “Transition I” to “Transition VIII”. I’ll shorten the titles to just their numbers here for the sake of brevity. “I” is a sweet opener, all wide open chords with slow, pensive changes between non-minor keys. It’s very peaceful and gentle. “II” is a mysterious wash of barely-present ambience, until delayed bells and a gentle hit appear and echo lazily around the periphery. NASA-style speech floats in and away again. “III” is a little bit darker; not dark ambient as such, but with more gravity and edge than the first two cuts. Lapping water opens “IV”, giving way to deep gurgles and tiny, uncertain sounds bobbing along on the surface.

“V” is metallic and droney, placed in a fog of uncertainty and hesitance. An organic synth makes occasional statements in reply to questioning pads. “VI” in contrast is dense, circling like a gigantic black hole or whirlpool, its long ambient tentacles grabbing anything that veers too close to the edges. “VII” is very much dark ambient, unsettling and uncomfortable; a machine-like hum hovers over dark chords, then leaves us as the chords draw out, feeling their way around in darkness like tendrils. The final track, “VIII”, draws the album to a close in an echo-laden environment with almost palpable, shimmering heat. Minor pads drag out, to be replaced by major, under an ever-present oppressive weight.

There’s an odd warm hiss in parts of the album, particularly so on the first track, which makes it sound slightly dated, and hence it’s difficult to tell exactly when the album was recorded. This may have been added deliberately, or it’s perhaps simply an unintended artefact. Whichever is the case it’s by no means an unpleasant sound. Altogether, a fascinating listen.

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The BFW Recordings site tells us that Amygdala Projects is the stage name of Hungarian musician László Néder. He has played guitar for 20 years, and aside from Amygdala Projects, he’s also a member of a rock band, TerraLuna. This ten track album, however, is a solo release, and his fourth on the BFW label.

“Galactic City”, the opening track, starts with a long, slow introductory sweep, as a Berlin School sequence bubbles under sonics which sizzle off to left and right. A solid bass groove kicks off underneath as filters open and close. Halfway through, a driving beat kicks in, propelling the track forward relentlessly. The music fades, but then suddenly we’re back in a psytrance groove. It’s a fabulous opener. “Ancient Rite” begins with bells and a female choir; a slow rhythm builds up with guitar and drums. Huge, almost tribal drums appear, then male vocals (Indian, perhaps?) are draped deftly across the top. The track maps itself out slowly, almost feeling its way around the edges of the soundstage.

“The 7th” has a hazy, shimmering opening, with a male voice drone and female speech. Synthetic voices jitter and slither above a heady bass and drum groove, to be subsumed by vocals, now female and in English. “Gene of Machine” is slithering, sinister electronica, skilfully built from blips and coils into an almost physically tangible structure. A deep bass synth carpets breathy ethereal vocals. It breaks down just after the two minute mark, snatches of speech flittering in and out, before the quasi-industrial rhythm takes over again. “Distilled People” takes us half way through the album, delay-soaked guitar and synth laid over a massive pounding beat.

The second half kicks off with “Evolving Lifes”, organic sounds overlapping a sinuous bassline. A quiet electronic rhythm is steadily built up, before being joined by a solid drum pattern. “Substance Z” starts with a very grand synth riff. A wordless female voice takes up the high end. Drums are pinned, Hillage-like, below. “Cauteria” has a ominous beginning, with eerie distorted voices and edgy chords. Another Berlin-style sequence emerges, completely contrasting with the voices. Synths zip under and over the beats as they become denser, folding and unfolding like DNA.

The album’s penultimate cut, “What Do You See in the Sphere?” has an almost martial rhythm. It’s a slow burner, hypnotic and fascinating. Finally, the closer, “Paroxysmal Love”, is the shortest here by far at just over two-and-a-half minutes long. It begins firmly in ambient territory, until a synth pattern and processed vocals overlay an opening drone. The track fades, leaving the listener relaxed after nearly an hour of alternating tension and groove. It’s quite the trip.